


Sex Arcade: Jane Shepard

by hdctbpal



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdctbpal/pseuds/hdctbpal
Summary: Shepard makes a devil's bargain.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back but never got around to posting it here.
> 
> This happens after [Sex Arcade: April O'Neil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448916). Zia is the hostess in that, though she didn't have a name yet. She has been illustrated by the excellent [Japes](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/japes/profile), [here](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/pictures/user/japes/407003/Shepard-and-Zia-Commission) and [here](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/pictures/user/japes/413004/Shepard-and-Zia-Part-2-Commission). She's inspired (visually) by Owler's [Howler](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/pictures/user/Owler/320336/Boob-Window) and 3DXcentric's [Riven](http://3dxcentric.deviantart.com/art/Riven-Visitor-486470775).

Shepard walked down the bare metal passageway, back to the tiny apartment she shared with Zia. She was nude; her body glistened with a light sheen of sweat and saliva and vaginal fluids, both hers and April's. She was no longer self-conscious about her nudity; she was only allowed clothing during her performances, and even then it was purely meant to titillate, and quickly shed.

She was no longer cleaned or fed by the other hostesses before or after her twelve-hour work day; she was Zia's responsibility now. Her mouth tightened involuntarily as she thought about that, but she quickly made her face blank again. There were cameras everywhere and someone was always watching for signs of improper attitude, as the hostesses called it. Shepard's simmering resentment and frustration were things to be kept to herself, never to be spoken of or written down or even hinted at. When they welled up in her throat, as they sometimes did, they were to be swallowed quietly and with a smile.

Zia was also responsible for Shepard's discipline, but there she hardly had to do anything. What kept Shepard in line was April. That, Shepard did not resent. April kept her sane.

As always, Shepard's weary green eyes looked everywhere. She told herself it was to plan her escape, hers and April's, but at this point it was an empty habit. She had seen this corridor so many times it no longer registered. She was allowed to walk from her apartment to her assigned performance area for that day, and back again, without an escort or restraints. But she was not allowed to deviate from her route in the slightest, nor to dawdle. And there was nothing for her to see but other hostesses' apartments, whose doors were secured by biometric sensors.

From the outside, each door opened only for the hostess who lived there, and - if she had one - her pet. From the inside, it opened only for the hostess.

Shepard pressed her hand flat against the panel next to the door. That's me, she thought. A pet. At least she didn't have to wear a collar like the other pets; she didn't want April to know about the bargain she had made, and Zia had agreed.

The panel beeped and flashed green and the door slid open. She stepped inside, and the door slid shut behind her.

*

The first time she saw her new home, Shepard had to bite her lip hard, to fight back her urge to cry.

She had expected it to be like a VIP suite, but clearly such luxury was only for paying customers, not employees, or their pets. Zia's apartment was tiny even for a veteran spacefarer like Shepard. It was larger than her cell had been, but not by much.

It had a single room, with a galley kitchen to the right and a bathroom to the left. The main room was divided by a simple white Shoji screen that closed off one corner. Outside the screen was the living room, or so Shepard guessed from the furniture. There were an old leather chair and a short unvarnished wooden bookshelf that was crammed with old-fashioned paper books and knick-knacks. Shepard noted in passing that the books were thin, had vapid titles, and did not appear to be read much. Next to the kitchen was a table that could - barely - seat two people; it must be the dinner table.

The VIP suites had holoprojectors that mimicked windows, so there was at least the appearance of natural light. There were no windows here, fake or otherwise. The lighting was indirect, with the emitters hidden behind decorative panels. Direct lighting would probably not have been any kinder to the place, but the gloom added to the sense of cramped squalor.

The deck, bulkheads, and overhead - as Shepard thought of them - were bare metal, as in most of the Arcade. Zia had at least hung up some colorful tapestries, but their cheerfulness seemed forced and incongruous. The living room floor was covered with a thick white rug that, in the dim light, looked stained and dirty.

Shepard swallowed hard on her tears as she struggled with the idea that she would be spending every free moment here, with Zia, quite possibly for the rest of her life. In her cell, at least, she had privacy. Part of her wanted to call this off and go back there, but she knew that would also send April straight into a booth. And Shepard had agreed to this, and she was a woman of her word. Her self-respect, her sense of duty and integrity, were among the few things she had left; she could not back out now.

Unbidden, she walked past Zia and into the apartment. It took her less than a minute to see everything.

The kitchen was so narrow she would have to stand aside to open one of the drawers fully. To Shepard's surprise, Zia apparently liked cooking; the counter was crammed with small appliances, the drawers were overflowing with utensils, pots and pans were stacked precariously in the cupboards, and the wooden spice rack mounted on one wall was well-stocked.

The bathroom had just enough room for a toilet, a sink, and a shower the size of a comm booth. Everything was clean, but old - the floor was covered in earth-toned tiles, the counter top was cracked green linoleum, and the mirror was clouded and yellow. There were no cabinets, which gave it the impersonal feel of a hotel bathroom. On the counter were a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a bottle of mouthwash, some other items Shepard did not recognize, and a small bag that she assumed was a makeup kit. The toothbrush, she saw, had fiber bristles rather than mass effect field emitters. Her nose wrinkled.

Reluctantly she went back to the main room. Behind the Shoji screen was a cot, slightly larger than the one in her cell. It had a single large white pillow and a thin dark blue blanket. At the foot of the cot, emerging from under one corner of the blanket like a snake, was a short length of chain. It ended in a leather cuff that dangled above the floor. The metal frame of the cot was scuffed and dull; by contrast, the chain was gleaming new. The cuff had the smell of real leather; it was thickly padded and looked quite comfortable.

That was when Shepard did begin to cry. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, but the tears welled up in her green eyes and spilled over anyway. Fortunately, Zia didn't seem put out. She took Shepard by her shoulders and gently turned Shepard toward her and held her, letting Shepard's head rest on her shoulder. Shepard didn't want this either, but she was afraid to say so, and at least Zia's embrace wasn't too tight. As always, she cried in silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle.

For a while Zia just rocked both of them gently back and forth. Then she said, "You're all right, love. Everything is going to be all right. I promise." Shepard's tears did begin to slow down as she heard that, but she told herself they had run their course anyway.

The tiny apartment and even the restraints, as it turned out, were perhaps the least confining parts of the relationship.

*

Zia was sitting in the chair and watching a video on her datapad. It sounded like a talk show; she enjoyed those. But she switched the pad off without another glance and looked up and smiled and said "Hi, sweetie."

I am not your sweetie, Shepard thought. "Hi, Zia," she said. Her tone was neutral, but not uncivil.

Zia put the pad down and stood up. She had straight white hair, cut to shoulder length. She did not use dye; her thin eyebrows were white also, and as Shepard knew, beneath Zia's uniform, so was her vaginal hair. Her eyes were amber. Otherwise she looked human; Shepard assumed she must be genetically altered somehow. Like all the hostesses, she was very good looking, though her charms were lost on Shepard.

She was a few years younger than Shepard and a few inches shorter; her build was slimmer and her breasts were smaller. With her small frame and ghostly hair and quiet voice, she seemed almost ethereal. This was deceptive. Her manner and her touch were firm and confident; sexually, she was direct and physical. Especially with Shepard.

Zia walked over to Shepard and embraced her, lifting her heels so she could rest her head on Shepard's bare shoulder. Shepard's senses were flooded with the warmth of Zia's body and the scent and feel of her skin and hair. Thankfully, Zia wore no perfume that could cling to Shepard for April to smell; she just smelled faintly of soap and shampoo.

Shepard returned the embrace and Zia sighed happily and squeezed her hard. The white cloth of Zia's uniform was deliciously soft on Shepard's bare skin, but Shepard could also feel, lower down, the sharp cold metallic instruments that protruded from the pockets in her belt.

"I missed you," Zia said, "so much." Her warm breath tickled the side of Shepard's neck. She said that every day, but somehow it never sounded routine; there was always real affection in her voice. She drew back and kissed Shepard on the mouth, which saved Shepard from having to reply that she missed Zia too. Zia's lips were pink and glossy; she tasted very faintly of strawberries.

The two of them had developed many little rituals as their relationship settled from days into weeks into months. On one level, this depressed Shepard, but she supposed domestic tranquility was good - it meant April was safe - and with Shepard's military background, she found some comfort in routine.

Shepard kissed Zia back, but kept her lips closed. Then Zia's lips fastened on Shepard's chin and she sucked. Shepard's lips parted and she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. She had a slightly bigger jaw than she would have liked, but she loved having her chin sucked. She didn't know why; it was just one of her little things.

She had never asked anyone to do it. She had done it to April, but it had not had any noticeable effect, and to her disappointment, April had not reciprocated. But Zia had seen it, and had taken the hint at once. The first time Zia had done this, Shepard had forgotten herself and melted into Zia's embrace. Now it was one of their little rituals.

Zia sucked harder, and Shepard shuddered with pleasure; she couldn't help it. Zia kissed her again; this time Shepard opened her mouth to accept it. Zia put a hand on the back of Shepard's neck, and Shepard let Zia pull her down deeper into the kiss.

Zia occasionally asked Shepard to tell her what she liked, but Shepard would shrug and say, "Just keep doing what you're doing." Telling Zia how best to sexually satisfy her felt too much like cooperation. But Shepard never held anything back around April, and Zia was very observant.

The kiss went on for a while. When it broke, both of them gasped a little; two tiny strands of saliva joined their mouths together.

"How was your day?" asked Zia, rubbing the back of Shepard's neck and ruffling her hair.

"It was good," Shepard said; of course, she had spent it with April. "How was yours?" After all, she told herself, it made sense to be polite. She had never asked Zia what drove her to work in this horrific place.

And thankfully, Zia wasn't inclined to talk about it. "It was good," she said. "Now that you're here, it's fantastic." She kissed Shepard again, but more lightly this time. Shepard had to admit she liked Zia's cheerfulness for its own sake, not just because it meant she was safe.

*

In the first few weeks, Shepard had constantly worried that Zia would become bored with her and move on to another conquest, sending Shepard - and April - to be chained up for public use. So Shepard had acted as if she were on her honeymoon, going out of her way to be appreciative and loving and sweet. When she said hello to Zia she sounded breathless and happy, as if she were greeting April. Unfortunately, she was not much of an actress.

At last Zia had said, "Look, Jane, you don't need to be afraid of me. I'm not gonna dump you."

If you'd ever been chained in a booth, you'd fucking well be afraid too, Shepard thought. "I can't help being afraid," she said instead, looking at the floor. She was more afraid for April than for herself, but of course she couldn't say that either. Here in Zia's apartment, the idea was that she was simply Zia's girlfriend.

Zia smiled. Though she probably would not have admitted it even to herself, she enjoyed the idea of Shepard's fear, of being the only person who could keep her safe. "Look," she said, "how long have you been here? In the Arcade, I mean."

"I don't know," Shepard said. "More than six months. Less than a year."

"Close enough," Zia said. "And have you ever seen me with anyone else?"

"No," Shepard said, "but how would I?" Before she became Zia's pet, Shepard spent her days chained up in a booth and her nights chained up in her cell.

"Oh, come on," Zia said impatiently, surprising Shepard. "You know how the girls talk. You'd have heard something."

That was true. Shepard had spent hours listening to the hostesses gossip about their pets. It disgusted her, but at least it was a distraction from the horrors of her booth. And she had heard other hostesses remark on Zia's single status many times.

"So," Zia said, "I don't want anyone else. I never have."

"Wanting is different than having," Shepard said.

Zia shrugged. "It's going to take time for you to trust me. And we have all the time in the world. So just be yourself," Zia said. "That's what I want."

Shepard shrugged. If that was what Zia wanted, Shepard could oblige her.

"Although," Zia smiled faintly, "it's okay to leave out the part about how you hate me."

Don't flatter yourself, you little bitch, Shepard thought. I hate the Reapers, and Cerberus, and the monsters who created this place. You aren't worth my hatred.

*

The next of their little rituals was Shepard's least favorite. It was not Zia's idea, either, but nor could Zia conceal her enjoyment of it. Zia produced a plastic packet, which she slit open with her thumbnail; she unrolled the white sterile gloves inside and put them on. Then she picked up her datapad, called up the appropriate program, and cradled the pad in the crook of her left arm.

Without being asked, Shepard stood at attention; feet together, hands flat against the sides of her thighs, spine straight, shoulders back, chest out, stomach in, chin up, eyes forward. Zia loved that, she knew; loved being reminded that Shepard was - had been - a soldier, and that Shepard took her orders from Zia now.

Shepard took a deep breath and focused on remaining in the required position as Zia inspected her from head to toe. Ostensibly, the inspection was about health and hygiene, but it was much more humiliating and invasive than any she had undergone in the military, even during hazing.

Zia was of course no physician; her inspections were merely a kind of early warning system. April, wherever she was, was presumably undergoing a similar inspection by some other hostess. After that she would be given her dinner and put in an empty VIP suite for the night, if one was available; otherwise she would get a bed in one of the rooms reserved for privileged subjects. Shepard worried constantly about another hostess "adopting" April the way Zia had adopted Shepard, but she didn't see what she could do about it. She couldn't even bring herself to think about April being sent to a booth. That was Shepard's nightmare.

In a twisted way, the Arcade took the welfare of its captives seriously. All of them had to undergo much more intensive - and uncomfortable - weekly examinations given by real doctors, and many had to attend counseling sessions with real psychologists. Shepard had heard that the Arcade had spent the equivalent of several million credits just to capture her; obviously, they saw her as an investment to be protected. She had to admit that any illness she might develop would be caught almost before it started. It was like the health care plan from hell.

Physically, Shepard looked better than she ever had. She fairly glowed with health; her skin was clear and fair, her hair red and lush. Her work day included time for calisthenics and weight lifting, from which she emerged glistening with sweat. Actually, she would have liked more - it would help her if she ever managed another escape attempt - but the Arcade didn't want her to look too muscular. As it was, her upper arms and thighs were thick with muscle; the twin vertical outlines of her abdominal muscles stood out clearly from her flat tummy.

Shepard closed her eyes - she was allowed to do that - as Zia combed her long, slim fingers through Shepard's hair, her nails tracing lightly over Shepard's scalp. That was another kind of attention Shepard loved; and though April was happy to play with Shepard's hair, Shepard didn't get to reciprocate as much as she wanted, because April disliked having her hair mussed. Shepard's hair was long enough now to spill over her bare shoulders. That was longer than she liked to wear it, but - as with most aspects of her life these days - she had no choice in the matter. "Not time for a haircut yet," Zia said. "Scalp shows no redness, irritation, or itching." The datapad beeped as it ticked off the first item in the checklist.

Zia took a tiny penlight from her belt. She took Shepard's jaw in her hand and gently turned Shepard's head one way, then the other, brushing Shepard's hair away from her ears and using the light to look inside - "Clean," she said. Shepard wore no earrings or other jewelry that might get in the way; she was allowed none.

Zia shined the light briefly in each of Shepard's green eyes. "Eyes look very good," she said, with a hint of warmth in her voice; Shepard's eyes were one of Zia's favorite things about her. "Pupils respond normally. No sign of corneal scratching or tearing. Still a little redness, due to fatigue - " she smiled - "as previously noted. Less than yesterday."

Shepard tensed a little. She hated this next part.

"I'm sorry," Zia said. She reached up and took Shepard's nipples in her hands. They were pink, hardly darker than her skin, and puffy. Zia squeezed, hard.

Shepard's mouth opened in involuntary protest, then closed again without a word. She swallowed hard. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I know, angel," Zia said. The datapad bleeped, indicating it did not understand. "Tear ducts working fine," Zia said.

At this point, Shepard believed Zia when she said she was sorry. Indeed, the nipple pinch was a kindness. The usual method for checking tear ducts was to trigger the subject's gag reflex, but Shepard had almost a phobia of anything being inserted deeply into her mouth or under her tongue, and she had nearly panicked the first time this was done to her. The hundreds of oral assaults she had been forced to endure in her booth had been a special kind of hell for her. So Zia had obtained permission to check her tear ducts this way instead.

Zia had even offered to let Shepard pinch her back, and Shepard had taken her up on it once, but Zia hardly even winced no matter how hard Shepard squeezed or twisted, and Shepard didn't want to actually injure her, even if she could have done so without endangering April. She despised Zia, yes, but she didn't hate her.

Shepard opened her mouth and Zia shined the penlight inside. "Teeth, gums, tongue, and tonsils all look healthy," Zia said. The tasteless mush that made up Shepard's diet was formulated not to attack her teeth.

Zia took Shepard's breasts in her hands and checked for lumps. She was very thorough. She even leaned forward and kissed Shepard's nipples, which were still throbbing, as if to make them feel better. Shepard had small breasts, and was a little self-conscious about it; Zia knew this, and rarely missed a chance to compliment them or lavish attention on them. And, though Shepard hated to admit it, it felt good.

Zia took Shepard's hands in hers - Shepard's were warm and a little damp, Zia's were cool and dry - and checked her nails. "Fingernails look healthy," she said. "Not ready for a trim." She crouched and took Shepard's left foot in her hand, then her right. "Toenails also healthy. Don't need trimming either." She smiled. "Polish is a bit chipped, though. We'll paint them again tonight." Shepard disliked nail polish; she found it too girly. But Zia liked her to wear it, and so....

Zia had Shepard lift her arms and ran her fingertips lightly over Shepard's underarms. Then she crouched and traced her fingertips down both sides of Shepard's vulva - Shepard's tummy muscles tightened a little at the touch - to her perineum. Then down her legs. "We'll shave you later," she said. Shepard wished she could also shave her luxurious red landing strip; but Zia loved to stroke it and bury her nose in it, and even April liked it - and so did the audiences they performed for.

Zia took out her thermometer and slipped a plastic sanitary cover over the metal sensor. Shepard got on her hands and knees, presenting her behind, and Zia slipped the thermometer into her rectum. It was humiliating, but better than having the thermometer under the tongue. The thermometer beeped and Zia removed it. "Temperature normal," she said, helping Shepard to her feet.

Next Zia produced a small empty plastic bottle and what looked like a bent plastic funnel. She unscrewed the cap from the bottle and put the funnel spout inside and covered Shepard's vagina with the mouth of the funnel. "Go ahead, sweetie," she said.

Sex was sweaty work, so all the Arcade's subjects were made to drink plenty of water. As the hostesses constantly reminded them, if they didn't need to pee at a given moment, they needed more water. Furthermore, even now, Shepard was not allowed to use the bathroom without permission. So an empty bladder was never a problem.

At first, Shepard had flushed with humiliation and needed several minutes to relax, with Zia's quiet encouragement, before she could relieve herself this way; but now she was used to it. She sighed as she let go and slowly filled the bottle. When she finished, it was warm and honey-colored and clear.

Zia shook the funnel gently and removed it from the bottle and put it in the disposal chute set into the wall next to the door. She screwed the cap onto the bottle and put the bottle into a different chute. "Urine sample sent for analysis," she said to the datapad. She dabbed at Shepard with a small sanitary towel, then disposed of it and put on a fresh pair of gloves.

Thankfully, Shepard had not had any anal insertions recently, so Zia did not have to inspect her there. She did, however, have to have her vagina inspected; she never went a day without having April's fingers inside her, or Zia's, or a vibrator, or a strap-on. She placed her feet wide apart, offering her vulva to Zia's inspection. Zia knelt and ran her fingers along either side of Shepard's slit. "Labia majora look good," she said.

She slowly stroked Shepard's clit through her protective hood until it began to stiffen and peek out, then she gently eased back the hood. "Clitoris responds normally. Clitoral hood looks clean," she said. She teased apart Shepard's outer lips, exposing her soft pink inner lips. "Labia minora look good. No odor or discharge."

Zia took a tube of lubricant from her belt and squirted a thick dollop onto the fingertips of the glove on her right hand, then rubbed her fingers together, smearing it all over them. She began stroking the tips of her fingers up and down over Shepard's slit, thickly smearing it with lubricant, though - out of habit - Shepard was already becoming wet on her own, her body more than ready to accept what was coming next.

Zia's index finger slipped smoothly and evenly into Shepard's vagina, meeting no resistance. Then her middle finger. At least, Shepard thought, she didn't have to be dilated; Zia had the appropriate instruments in her belt, in several sizes.

"Any pain or discomfort?" Zia asked her, as she carefully explored Shepard's vagina with her gloved fingers.

"No," Shepard said. She rarely had any vaginal pain these days, thanks to Zia freeing her from her booth, she reminded herself. What she was feeling had nothing to do with discomfort, at least physically. Her voice was already a little rough, her breathing already a little uneven. Hell, she told herself, she had been having sex with April less than half an hour ago; she was kept at some level of sexual arousal nearly twenty-four hours a day.

"Mm," Zia smiled at her. The datapad bleeped at her again, but she ignored it. "You like that?" Her fingers made a come-here motion inside Shepard.

Shepard bit her lip and nodded silently.

"You like that, Jane?" Zia said again, as her fingers began to slowly pump in and out of Shepard, stroking the top of her vaginal canal. Even Shepard's sexual response, or lack of it, was part of the examination.

"Yes," Shepard whispered.

"Answer fully, Jane. And louder, please." Zia was not at all impatient; she enjoyed giving Shepard direction. She began teasing Shepard's exposed clit with her left hand, even as the fingers of her right hand continued their rhythmic motion. Shepard's hips were beginning to move in time with Zia's fingers.

"Yes, Zia, I like it," Shepard said, her voice strained with a strange mixture of frustration and increasing arousal; the former fed into the latter in a way she didn't quite understand. The datapad beeped as it recorded her response.

"Good girl," Zia said. "Just one more thing."

Shepard nodded again and swallowed hard. She knew what she had to do. She was grinding her clit back against Zia's touch now; she could feel her own heat and wetness on the insides of her thighs; her vaginal muscles were clasping Zia's fingers tightly inside her.

"Please," Shepard said, forcing her green eyes to meet Zia's amber ones. "Please, Zia, please let me come. Please - " Though she hated herself for it, she meant every word. She needed it -

Zia smiled. "Attitude is good." The datapad beeped. Zia's fingers worked faster. "Come for me, sweetie. Let it out. Come like a good girl."

That was an order Shepard was more than willing to obey. She came over Zia's gloved fingers with a short, sharp cry of pleasure that was recorded, analyzed, and determined to be genuine. The datapad flashed green as the final item was checked off and the examination completed.

Zia held out her arms to Shepard, wordlessly releasing her from the required position, and Shepard gratefully relaxed into her embrace, letting Zia take most of her weight. Zia unbuckled her tool belt, which slid to her feet with a muffled thud. Shepard always breathed a little easier after that. Her wetness darkened a small patch of white fabric at the waist of Zia's uniform, but Zia never fussed about such things.

Zia slipped her fingers out of Shepard's vagina with a small wet sound - to Shepard's humiliation she felt her vaginal muscles clasping greedily at Zia's fingers, reluctant to let go. Shepard's heart belonged to April, and her thoughts to herself, but she could not deny that her body belonged to Zia.


End file.
